Night.
19:04. It was raining.
A man in black strolled across a crosswalk, umbrella in one hand, his eyes glued to the phone in his other. He was absorbed in crafting a message—so much so, he didn't notice the pickup truck barreling toward him through the downpour.
Only when the roar of the engine filled his ears did panic flood his face.
He stumbled to the side.
From his line of sight, he could see the driver's equally horrified expression as the truck swerved. The wet pavement caused the vehicle to slide, veering away just in time.
CRASH!
The pickup smashed into a nearby traffic light pole.
Sizzle... sizzle...
Sparks danced at the severed base of the pole, which now leaned precariously against the signage of a nearby café.
Gasps erupted from nearby pedestrians. Drivers braked in alarm.
The man who'd just escaped death sat stunned on the ground, breath shallow and erratic.
Just then, another man exited the café, curious about the commotion.
BANG!
One of the pickup's front tires exploded, the sound sharp and startling. The blast rocked the vehicle's body, causing the fractured signal pole to collapse—
CRACK!
It struck the curious man squarely, knocking him to the ground.
Sizzle, sizzle——
Live wires sparked ominously. Rainwater cascaded from the café's awning, the heavy downpour having ballooned its waterproof fabric. A sudden gush of rain fell directly onto the collapsed man.
He began to spasm violently.
…
Across the street, a woman stood frozen in place, eyes wide.
Moments later, as café staff poured outside and pedestrians reached for their phones to call the authorities, she confirmed silently:
The target is dead.
She raised her phone.
[Target confirmed dead?]Rum's message had arrived just thirty seconds earlier.
[Dead. Exact same time as before.]Vermouth replied.
She felt a chill crawl down her spine.
Cointreau's killings were nothing short of demonic.
Every reaction. Every movement. The environment, the timing, even the psychological state of his targets—all orchestrated. As if he were a director crafting fatal disasters. A silent god of death, turning the world into his stage.
And what terrified her most:This was his third target.
Three days in a row.All victims died between 19:05 and 19:06, each by apparent "accident."
Rum: [Still no trace of a setup?]Vermouth: [No. But the timing remains precise—always between 19:05 and 19:06.]
The reply didn't come immediately.
Rum: [Stop observation for now.]Vermouth: [Oh? You're giving up on uncovering Cointreau's secrets?]Rum: [All deaths at 19:05. He may know we're watching. This could be a warning... or a provocation.]Rum: [But if you're still curious, feel free to continue.]
"…"
Vermouth stared at her phone, then pocketed it.
Not a chance.
After what happened last time, she had no intention of being "taught a lesson" by Hayashi Yoshiki again. Had she hesitated even a second longer before yielding, who knows what kind of horrifying retaliation she might have faced?
She started her car and drove off.
Elsewhere...
In Beihua's second apartment, Hayashi Yoshiki calmly tore a page from the Death Note and lit it.
The white sheet curled, blackened, and disintegrated into ashes.
Gin's assignment is complete. But the reactions to follow... that's what really matters.
Ding-ling-ling~
His phone rang.
"Hello? Hakuba?"
"Yes, it's me," said Hakuba Saguru on the other end.
"Another accidental death today. Time of death was approximately 19:05."
"Your intel's getting faster."
"Naturally. There's no reason to keep these things from me now. My father even asked for your thoughts."
"I see. Got specifics?"
"Not clearly yet. That's why I'd like to talk face-to-face. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Sure. Come to my office in the afternoon."
"Deal."
Call ended.
Yoshiki leaned back with a smirk.
Hakuba Saguru was gaining access to information at an accelerating pace. This suggested one of two things: either the task force or his father had begun formally involving him in the investigation.
Or perhaps, they were becoming more and more anxious about their own lack of progress.
Three deaths in three days.All at the same minute.Yet they had no leads—only frantic postmortems and dead-end interviews.
Exactly what Cointreau intended.
"The task force...""Karasuma Renya's whereabouts...""So many beasts in this zoo... and I'm their zookeeper."
Yoshiki stared blankly for a moment, then picked up his pen.
He needed to assess what resources were still in play.
The Organization had abandoned its hunt for the stolen APTX4869. No need to keep relocating the stockpile anymore. But...
How can I use this drug to bait the Zoo's Boss?
His thoughts drifted to Tokiwa Mio.
She had nearly recovered. But the twin tower incident had left her in deep water. As project head, she'd taken the fall, and Tokiwa Group's stock had been plummeting since.
He picked up his phone and typed a message:
[Ms. Tokiwa Mio, would you be available for a meeting sometime soon?]
A buzz came almost instantly.
Tokiwa Mio:
"Of course, Mr. Hayashi. I haven't had the chance to thank you for what you did. Please, name the time."
Hayashi Yoshiki:
"How about 7 PM this weekend? I'll leave the location to your choice."
Tokiwa Mio:
"Agreed."
Yoshiki placed the phone aside.
The next act of his intricate play was about to begin.